Tuesday, 20 May 2008

This a poem I might try and write over a few installments, charting my unpleasant stay in London. This is the first installment, upon which I discover my flat in London is inhabited by individuals of dubious nature and questionable morals, especially regarding dairy produce. It's not very elegant, or beautiful, but it's from the heart damn it.You can kind of sing this verse to the tune of 'I want a party' from Charlie and The Chocolate factory.

Friday, 16 May 2008

well I’m onto the almost come off nowmissed the pavementtripped fast high and ceiling shallow off a fourth floor flatwhile weeing from the window ledgesnakes below nursed their youngsnakes bellowed buzzard’s eggs into an eagle’s nestwith a taint of utilityand wee

Pooka Business

Our principal goal is to be all things to all men. Words. Spittle. Joy above all things. Look, and touch sometimes, all with clean fingers please. Veet for the tongue. Press studs for the abdomen. Gravy for the choir. Banjos for the genitals. Pooka Delaval.

Visions of Delaval(see Pookafield below) is the pictorial side of things. Good stuff.

Hotboxx is a radio show that streams from the heart of the pookasphere, bringing japes aplenty, and fine tunes to boot.

Counter Hive (see Pookafield again) charts the endless undulations over the years of the campaign against the insidious Human Advance (H.A.).